The Strange Case of Sherlock Holmes
by The Wandering Time Lady
Summary: With the sudden death of Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson does something drastic to bring the detective back to life once more, causing one of the most unlikely friendships, but with Moriarty plotting something big, and a rouge airship pirate on the loose will things ever go back to the way they once were? Steampunk AU. Contains character death, and slight gore.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** So first off, this story is one gigantic AU, one where Automatons roam the streets of London, where there is a world of airship pilots and a strange type of science governed by the laws of the Irodium council, good luck faire reader for your journey begins here.

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**Prologue:**

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these words, but in every respect I am bound by loyalty and my sense of honour.

My dearest friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, is dead.

I must say, I would rather him plummet off a waterfall fighting to the end, than such a trivial way he has died.

It had started on a bitter November evening, Holmes and I were chasing down a most despicable criminal, a convicted murder who had escaped the police. His name as I recall was Johnson.

As we chased the ruffian, Holmes had failed to notice just how close to the Thames river we truly were, and as such, he paid no heed to the imminent danger of icy cobblestone and the bullets we precariously dodged.

Such a trivial matter to say the least, and just as we gained on Johnson's heels, he fired a shot once more causing my friend to dodge the bullet, and fall into the clutches of the river below...


	2. Breathe You Fool!

**A/N:** You guys are getting two chapters tonight because just posting the prologue would be boring. But just so you know, I'm gunna need at least 5 reviews to see if people would actually be interested in reading this

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**Chapter 1: Breathe You Fool!**

The first thing Watson did after Holmes had plummeted into the river was to shoot his revolver at the fiend, but as his mind was more focused on the possibility of his friend and colleague Mr Sherlock Holmes dying, he missed the shots he had, causing Johnson to escape and Watson to throw the now useless revolver aside.

Gazing over the ledge that separated cobblestone from water, Watson could just make out the head of his friend, struggling to stay above the water, which was turning a crimson red as he forced his head above once again.

Before Watson could jump in, Holmes' body had become eerily still, finally snapping out of his trance, Watson dived into the icy water just as his friends body, no longer able or willing to struggle, sank into the depths of the Thames.

Upon hitting the water, it had seemed as though a thousand knives had stabbed Watson repeatedly, burning his scars and skin and for a moment he could do nothing but struggle to breathe past his chattering teeth.

Once he was able to swim freely, he wasted no time on searching for his friend, finally after no trace of him above the water, he had braced himself and dived below.

The water was dark and murky save for the dim glow of the street lamps above the surface, and Watson could just make out the few shapes of anchors buried deep within the sand at the bottom.

Then he saw a form in the distance, still and unmoving.

Swimming closer to the shape, he could just make out a pocket watch floating freely in the water, he could recognize that watch from a mile away.

When he made it to the unmoving form of Holmes, his heart swelled with temporary relief and he had to remind himself that he was underwater and couldn't breathe at the present moment.

Dragging Holmes to the pier, Watson gasped from exhaustion and fear, trying to keep his heart from thumping out of his chest. Both men were soaked to the bone, both white as paper. The difference was, only one was breathing.

"Holmes, Holmes! breathe." Watson shook his friend, tilting his head back and trying to force air into his lungs. He shook him harder and harder, shouting at him to open his eyes, to say something, to move.

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5..._

Breathe you damn fool!

Come on Holmes, stay with me!

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5..._

Breathe!

No! You can't leave now, and especially like this!

Breathe you fool!

Lestrade was the one that found them ten minutes later


	3. Ideas Lost, and Ideas Recovered

**Chapter 2: Ideas Lost, and Ideas Recovered**

It wasn't Watson's fault, he had tried his hardest to save him and survive it himself. And it wasn't Holmes' fault, he had just been doing his job.

It was a freak thing. No one was to blame execpt maybe Johnson. But it still hurt. It hurt so much. Of course, he had Mary, but no one would ever be able to replace the friendship that he and Holmes had shared...

Replace...

And then he remembered it. This heavy oak door in the basement of his childhood home. And so without so much as warning Mary, he stalked out of his house and towards Fleet street. towards his greatest kept secret...

It took some force to unstick the unoiled hinges to get it open, but once he was there, Watson could feel the ideas rushing back to him.

He had speant much of his youth in here. Building, inventing, and creating. Since he had joined the military, and met Holmes, he no longer had that spark to create. now however...

There they were. The automatons. Just as he left them. Empty, dead, never once powered on. No power or mind of their own. No life. Just empty shells of metal and oil. And accross the room were two safes. Inside them samples of Life and Soul, each having their own respective casings. because you should never mix the pure forms of the two. Never.

Mary would never forgive him if she ever learned of this. Watson stared down at the body of his friend, fear and exictement making his heart race. Tomorrow would be the funeral. They were going to put his friend, his genius partner in crime Sherlock, in the ground where they will never be able to hear his marvelous deductions again. The thought of never again chasing a crimnal through the streets of London, or hearing his violin screeching at 3am. The tears were threatning to fall again.

No. Not now. He had work to do. With the funeral being tomorrow, no one would ever have to see the evidence. Just close the casket, and no one would ever have to know. Watson set to work, the suit would hide his dirty work in the end.

...

It was working. The colbaltisum was doing its job. It was giving life to which did not have it. Watson grinned to himself. It had taken eight months. Eight months of soaking the pieces in colbaltisum and roxicorride samples. Now that 'Soul' was doing as it should, all he needed to do was charge the 'life', and the automaton could be ready tonight.

Watson washed his hands of the blue much, slipping on new gloves as he reached into the jar that held the roxicorride extract. From it, he had pulled out a steel grey eye; now no longer white but a sickly glowing green. Infused perfectly.

After making the nessiscary cuts, he had slipped in a small metal tube with wires running from the inside. It was a camera. Cameras were not exactly new, but not very useful. It took too long to sit before a plate and wait to for the box to capture an image. so, why not use what you have? why not take the images and project them onto an optic nerve? If he could manage it with a real eye, then surely he would be able to build a second one from scratch.

Stiching up the back of the eyeball, Watson grabbed the glass and metal construct he had made for it. Inside was a mix of preservation liquid and pure roxicorride. Anything to keep the eye doing what it needed to do. Watson set the eye into place and with a twist of some wires, it was anchored. An act of God would be needed to make it shift or dislodge.

Watson drew the wires through the hole in the back of the lid, snapping the whole cunstruct closed. Then he welded it shut, forever keeping the liquid tightly inside. With a few touch ups, the optic was inserted into the metal skull, wired up perfectly.

With the flip of a switch, the lab was bathed in a brilliant green light. The power was running to the roxicorride infused eye and preserveation liquid now, melding the eye to the metal just as he knew it would.

And then Watson turned it back off. From the looks of it, no one would ever be able to see into the automaton's eye and would never be able to tell exactly what was in there. And when it was on the glow was too bright to see.

He set to work attaching the shutters that would close when powered down.

With the eye in place, Watson now turned to the very core of the machine. Washing his hands once more and again replacing his gloves, he opened the chest of the metal man. The boiler was full, the heating coils he had created were in place. from it ran tubes that turned various parts within the automaton's body. Cogs and gears had their teeth perfectly aligned, cables were taught and strong. Bellows that would power the voice box were supple and clean.

And resting in the centre of the chest was a cage containing an empty glass ball. Watson picked up the jar of colbaltisum, its thich glop wrapped around the key to this entire opperation. It was time.

The glass ball twisted open, and little by little, Watson poured the sticky substance into the ball. It had been built with wires running from it into the spine of the machine, up into the mechanical brain and eyes. the wires were now coated in the soup. The jar was empty save for one thing.

Gently, Watson removed the exesses colbaltisum so it wouldn't overflow. Then he pulled his only hope from the jar.

It took exactly eight months of soaking Holmes' heart in colbaltisum to get it beating again.

Into the glass ball it went, with the glop, to keep it beating. But the ball had to be closed. Inserting the still open ball into the automatons chest, Watson grabbed up the lid that would seal it all nice and neatly. He inserted one tube through the lid, then the other. He hooked up the tubes, one leading from the boiler, and another one leading to the rest of the chasis, to the already exisiting valves of the heart. Why bother with a piston when you can just simply use what's already there?

Once in place, Watson closed the ball tightly, sealing it with a mix of glue and metal. Then he gave the gift of life.

A spark was all it took, and the core started to glow. It was faint like a candle at first, but it slowly grew brighter. Brighter until it was too bright to gaze at directly. He lowered his goggles and contiuned to watch the core react within itself, sending signals throughout the wiring and into the mechanical brain he had spent hours building. The coils kicked on. The water within the boiler began to heat.

Watson set the elaborately designed chest plate into place, a window allowing the core to be seen without blinding anyone. The automaton was beautiful. With a great heave Watson sat the metal man upright, and tied the last wires together. The wire was the only one needed to send raw power into the brain curcuitry and bring his soul back.

The optic fickered to life on the left side of the robot's face. Steam vented from underneight its chasis, and more from the vents along its neck. The neck movied, the head moved, the arms and legs moved. A start up check, to make sure everything was working right. Minimal programming sending signals to gears and limbs and cables.

Then everything halted to a stop. And the one-eyed robot swung its head around and gazed at his creator. Watson smiled. He moved to the right, And the robot followed his movements. He moved to the left, and again the robot moved with him.

"Do you know who I am?"

The automaton didn't answer. It just kept staring at Watson, trying to understand what was going on. Why wasn't he answering! Watson could tell it was watching him, but other than that...nothing more!

The metal man took a shuttering breath into its bellows, and a voice rose from low along its neck.

"Maker"

"You do not recognize me?"

"Your face is in my memory, aside from that...no"

"Holmes. Holmes! It's Watson."

"The name is fimilar, and rings a bell in my circuitry." maybe...

"Yes!"

The robot looked away, taking in the room they were in. It's movements were jerky, clumsy. New. With a hiss of steam he looked down at himself, lifting metal hands to wiggle metal fingers. The green glow became brighter, almost as if the jaw-less face was grinning. Its head snapped back up to Watson.

"Watson!"

The robot was happy, a hint of recognition in that single eye. There was the memory of being the great detective.

Watson burried his face in his hands and sobbed in releif.

A hiss, a clank, and the metal man was off the table with a jerky uneven walk to Watson. Like a child taking its first steps.

"Watson?"

His head shot up.

"Yes?"

"You are upset and crying."

"Yes, I am. Look at you, you can talk and, you can walk, you-"

He wasn't able to finish. for in that moment the automaton swept the man into an almost bone crushing hug. It was Holmes.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"You are Watson."

"Do you know who you are?"

"Yes."

Watson extracted himself from the long metal limbs, shock written across his face.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am a private consulting detective that resides in 221b Baker street. How good it is to see you again my dear Watson!"


	4. Enemies Returned, and People Introduced

**A/N: **Here is Chapter 3, sorry for the wait I guess, I'm still not sure if people want me to continue so a review would be nice but yeah...I hope you enjoy this, even though it is a little short

**Chapter 3: The Strange Case of Sherlock Holmes**

Fortunately, automatons were not that uncommon, and when we finally left that wretched basement lab and out on the streets, hardly anyone cared, or paid heed to the seven-foot tall robot walking the streets of London.

Holmes, however wasn't so keen on walking around naked, robot or not, he was going to be dressed properly.

Things were exactly the same between the two, and Watson hadn't been this happy since before Holmes had died, eight months of pure misery had paid off though, for his quickly realized that every aspect of Holmes had returned.

They could hear the droning of air ship engines, the traders must be returning to sell their spoils, they only came twice a month, their ships flooding the sky and ports until they had sold their goods and flown off.

Of course, there were a few exceptions to this ritual, for some returned more often than the others, and some preferring an empty port to a over-filled one.

Among those who didn't wish to follow the swarm as a certain Captain Barnabas Roderick the Third, who was more than willing to face an empty port, due to his pirated goods of course!

You see the Captain was a pirate, who had thought it best if he could just steal other traders goods, rather than find his own spoils, and being a sort of fellow who doesn't get on well with others made him gladly hated among the other traders.

With his spoils he had also taken up a person with him, someone he found while in Switzerland, looking for a secret chocolate recipe he could sell to its rival company.

This man was no other than Professor James Moriarty, who had accosted Roderick saying he would pay a pretty penny if he could catch a ride with him back to England.

Being the opportunist he was, Roderick agreed to take him back, being that the only exception was that he would pay him a pound a month, and in return offered his help with anything that the professor might need.

Moriarty grinned, it was time to start looking for the man who had cost him his livelihood, his reputation, and almost his life. He wasn't going to forgive him so easily, and he knew where the man lived, so it would make it all much more simpler.

But, there was still a plan that needed to be executed, and it would need the help of the Captain, who was dull enough not to catch on.

He would need many things, and among them an army to take this man down.

And if he wasn't going to succeed, he would take Sherlock Holmes to the grave with him.


End file.
